Normality
by Shadenight123
Summary: The Wizard belongs to the House. The Wizard grows in the House. The House makes the Wizard. For once, the opposite is true. It is the Wizard that makes the House. Slytherins aren't backstabbing murderous blood-purity loons. Gryffindors aren't brash and arrogant bullies. Ravenclaws aren't atrocious pranksters. Hufflepuffs aren't blindly loyal morons.
1. Prologue, Part One

_Gryffindor values bravery, daring, nerve, and chivalry._

_Hufflepuff values hard work, patience, loyalty, and fair play._

_Ravenclaw values intelligence, knowledge, and wit._

_Slytherin values ambition, cunning and resourcefulness._

The Wizard doesn't make the House. The House makes the Wizard.

_What if, instead, the opposite was true?_

Harry Potter was, in one word, befuddled. There was a sense of deep finality, as the Hat didn't as much as gaze him before sending him trotting over to the Slytherin side of the table. He accepted that. He understood that. He was tiring of sleeping in the closet, he was completely unfazed by the whispers, and already he wanted his share of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' deal.

Slytherin valued ambition, cunning and resourcefulness. He was all three.

Draco held a small smile on his face as he gestured for the spot near him. "Already showing off your friendship, Malfoy?" a girl remarked from his side.

"Who says _I'm_ not the one showing him off?" Harry retorted crisply, taking the offered place.

"The books were helpful?" Draco said in a quieted whisper.

"I have no idea what I'm saying," Harry murmured back. "But I think they are."

"No showing weakness," Draco smiled as his face held itself up primly and properly. "You can't let them smell it."

"Who? The Gryffindors?"

"No, the Ravens," Draco replied.

The Ravenclaws' eyes were _disquieting_, to say the least. They seemed to be staring at him, analysing his every minuscule inflexion of the muscles and the lips, before scribbling down this or that something. The Gryffindors boisterously didn't care, welcoming happily among their ranks those chosen by the hat. The Hufflepuffs cheerfully clapped for everyone sorted, not caring in the slightest if they went to their house or to the Ravenclaws.

"Enough hush-hushing," a prefect said. "Keep your backs up straight. Potter, I'll have a word with you later."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. The Prefect was a position of power. So were the Headboy and Headgirl, and the books Malfoy had sent to him had been clear. One had to respect power, until one was ready to _strike_ to gather his own.

He wondered where he would have gone, if he hadn't met Malfoy at the clothing shop.

"They're still looking this way, aren't they?" a third year muttered, thankful for having his back to the Ravens and yet at the same time anxious about the feeling of their stares on him.

"Don't let it get to you Adrian," the one next to him said. "They're looking at Potter, not at you."

The sorting finished.

"Very well! Very, very well!" Albus Dumbledore clapped his hands, standing upright with a bright smile on his face. "A wonderful new year at Hogwarts is about to begin! I hope you all are ready for this upcoming year, both first years, last years, students who have the Owls, the Newts…uhm, and also all the students in the middle years I would say!" the old headmaster took a deep breath. "To this day, I always hope for all of you to walk out of this school as better students, better men and women, and upstanding citizens. I can guarantee you, this isn't just my Gryffindorish side speaking! I can hope you will make wonderful memories of your time at school, I can hope you will consider this place, this wonderful rock building —of quite an interesting architectural value I might add…"

"Albus," Minerva whispered sternly. "They're going to starve if you keep this long."

"Oh, sure," Albus blinked. "As I always say, I hope Hogwarts can become your home away from home. If anyone wants some warm milk, the kitchens are usually open at any time, just don't be scared by the house elves. You can find them…"

"Albus!" Minerva sternly rebuked the headmaster. "Ahem," Minerva McGonagall stood. "The students are not allowed to enter the kitchen, and they aren't allowed anywhere around Hogwarts past curfew."

"Tickle the pear, ask direction from your housemates," Albus mouthed with his hands covering his mouth. The first years giggled at such antiques, Harry finding himself with his lips twitching upwards. Draco was no less, and even the older students all held amused gazes.

"Headmaster," jovially, Sprout whispered in a high enough voice for everyone to hear—making it more of an announcement than an actual whisper. "The dinner."

"Right, right," placing a hand to smack at his forehead, Albus Dumbledore snapped his fingers. "Have a jolly good dinner…uhm…how do the youngsters nowadays like to say it…oh, right, 'That's all folks!'."

"_That_ is Dumbledore?" Draco murmured in disbelief as the plates in front of them filled with food.

"He _is_ Dumbledore," the Slytherin Prefect replied. "And you'd do better not say anything about his…quirks. He might look a bit odd, but he's the owner of enough titles and ranks to be someone you don't really want to make angry."

Draco nodded. "It's just…father said I had to keep an _open_ mind if I saw him."

"Why?" Harry asked, curious.

"Because…and here I'm quoting my father, 'he won't stab you in the back. He'll charge at you with a broadsword, all the while speaking gibberish about repenting'. Our family does owe him much, I suppose…"

Draco bit his lips. "You read about the fall of the Dark Lord right?"

"Ah, you mean…he who must not be named?" Harry replied.

"Yes, exactly," Draco nodded. "Well, my father ended up entangled with him and his supporters. I'm telling you this straight, Harry. My father never _willingly served_. But you have to respect power…and in those times, the Dark Lord was _powerful_."

The blond boy licked his lips. "They were…dark times, maybe, but when the choice is between fighting and dying or living in the shadows…well, you know what a cunning person does, right? It's not like…the Dark Lord would have remained in power forever anyway. My father said that even among the people on his side willingly, many kept an eye out for a sign of weakness to use in their favour."

"That's a heavy conversation for your first dinner at Hogwarts, Mister Malfoy," the mellifluous voice of an old dark eyed man with black hair made Draco and Harry freeze. "Mister Potter, I hope you prove yourself more befitting of Slytherin than your parents were of Gryffindor," Severus Snape hissed. "But I will explain more in the common room. Now eat, and be quiet about things you do not understand."

The man then returned to his seat at the head of the table.

"That's Professor Snape, our head of the house," a female voice whispered. "Way to go, Draco!" she hissed furiously.

"Harry, meet Pansy," Draco drawled out, gesturing towards the minute girl with brown hair and dark eyes. Her hair was in a bowel-cut form. "My unfortunate acquaintance," he grumbled.

"It's Lady Parkinson," Pansy said, stiffening her back up and putting up a charming smile. "_Enchanté_ to meet you, Mister Potter."

"Just nod and let her speak," Draco whispered with a hopeful suggestion. "Maybe she'll find you interesting and stop harassing me with make-belief games."

"You're not dropping her on my back," Harry retorted, while trying a nervous smile. "My pleasure…fair lady? Draco here spoke a lot about you on the train ride here." He tried his most convincing poker face.

"Oh, really? And what did he say about me?" Pansy smiled.

Draco paled. "Harry, my friend, dear, dear friend…don't."

Harry's mouth opened as if to speak, but then he refrained. "Sorry, but I cannot divulge such information. There is one such thing as a strong friendship bond between us, and thus I cannot reveal anything…but he said flattering things about you more often than not."

"Uh," Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Very well," she sniffed haughtily. "I will accept such an answer," she gave a sour look towards Draco, "For the time being."

Harry's fork and knife worked on the dinner's roast and sweet potatoes with gusto —it was much better than the Dursleys' dinner scraps.

After dinner, Harry followed quietly in the line of Slytherins that seemed to head down towards the dungeons of the castle. The dormitory of the common room of the house was accessible through a secret wall, which apparently slid aside only after pronouncing a passphrase.

"The password for this year is 'Merlin'," a prefect said as the wall slid aside to let them in. "In honour of one of the many illustrious students of Hogwarts who belonged to our house," the girl said primly, her chest swelling up with pride. "And one day, it might be your name another prefect will use to slid open this door. Who knows," once the last student entered, the wall closed with a simple click behind them.

"Now, first years, I know you're tired and probably wish to go to bed, but there are some things that need to be told, and they are important," the prefect coughed lightly. "First of all, my name is Gemma Farley, and I am one of the prefects and I'm a fifth year. Now, are there any muggleborn students among you?" she asked, her voice light.

Nobody answered.

"Ah, well, I'm going to go ahead and think there are anyway, and that they're just scared witless…you don't have to worry," she continued, "Slytherin House isn't centred on blood purity any more than Ravenclaw is centred on drinking tea in the afternoon. If you're in Slytherin, it means you have the drive, the ambition and the cunningness to realize your dreams. They might be childish ideas of becoming Prime Minister, or you might have an ambition worthy of note," she continued, "But the thing a lot of people neglect to mention, when speaking about Slytherin, is that we are _united_. We always give the same front. We always give the same version. Come high water or low tide, we stick together."

She gave a pointed look to the first years. "I'm not saying you won't fight or scuffle against one another over trivial matters like girls you like or your favourite chaser. If anything, I expect you to begin verbal spars on which politician is best suited for the next term of government within the end of the year. That said however, there is a strict rule that will _always_ result in a grievous punishment should you infringe it, and that I want you all to memorize by heart: _no wands_. If you take out your wand to _attack_ a fellow Slytherin, I can guarantee you that the consequences will not be pleasant at all."

She snorted. "We're Slytherin. We do not attack someone we can convince. I expect cunningness, ambition, determination…and _self-preservation instincts_," the girl smiled briefly. "I'll tell you a little story, so you'll understand what is expected from you. A group of Slytherin went out for a stroll in the middle of the night once, and encountered a troll," she began, "The next morning, they went to their lessons as if nothing had ever happened. Do you know why?"

There was silence.

"Because Slytherins aren't stupid idiots who go outside for a stroll in the middle of the night," she finished. "So I will take points from whoever has the bright idea of going outside _in the middle of the night_. If you feel peckish…hold it in. If you have a problem…talk it over with one of us. We have a strict no bully policy. If your problem is of a different nature and concerns another house, talk with our head of the house. You'll see him in Potions anyway."

She gave them all a glare. "Of course, it's not like I'm expecting you all to act as if you were chummy friends since birth and go around smiling and delivering daisies. You can have your divergences…just have them where no one who isn't a Slytherin can see them. You will have the respect of other students, even if a bit mixed with fear. And don't try to open the windows. I don't know why nobody realizes it…" she pointed at the far end of the wall, where murky black windows stood by.

"That's the lake. Do you hear me? _The. Lake_. The windows do not have some powerful invisible wall to let you touch the lake's surface. If you open the windows, we have to waste time closing them and drying off everything in the common room. Yes, they're magical. Yes, they can withstand the pressure. No, I don't know who had the brilliant idea of making the windows in such a way. Finally, _yes_, it's highly possible you will see the Giant Squid swoosh by. Do us all a favour, and don't tap on the glass. The creature likes the attention, and it scares the hell out of people when it places a giant eye at the window."

Nobody said a word.

"The really last thing, then I'll let you little snakes go to bed. _Watch out for one another_. Ravenclaws fight over grades, Gryffindors have the tact of an elephant and Hufflepuffs are a bit dense…but we snakes stand together."

There were quiet nods, as all the first years held a thoughtful expression. "Off you go then, boys to the right and girls to the left," she said. "You're too young for this, but know that you can't go in each other's dormitories unless you're a prefect. You won't like what happens if you try."

With those final words, the group split. Harry was just about to follow when the male prefect, who had spoken to him at dinner, came forth.

"Potter," the prefect brought up his right hand for a shake. Harry awkwardly shook it. He wasn't used to being treated like this. Draco gave a quick glance from him to the boy, before hurrying along towards the dormitory. It probably meant it was nothing worth worrying over.

"Ryan Westrup," the prefect said. He had low sunken blue eyes and a bedraggled appearance. He actually looked a bit on the sick side, his skin pale and his hair a dark brown. "Have you given any thought about running for ministry?"

Harry blinked.

"What?"

"Ryan," Gemma muttered. "You can't be serious. He's eleven. Come on."

"I'm saying he's eleven now," Ryan grumbled back, "But he has enough hype for being the Boy-Who-Lived to make it a possibility. I'm simply claiming dibs," he shrugged. "You ever need something, feel free to ask me," the boy continued.

"Well," Gemma said as she watched her colleague walk away. "That's what you should expect for a while, Potter," the girl curled a lock of her hair with her index finger. "Everyone in here will want to be your friend soon enough."

"Oh," he said in surprise, "Isn't that good?"

Gemma giggled. "Yes, I think that's very good. Maybe one day they'll open that wall with your name. Remember: don't be shy. If you need anything, you can ask me too. Now off to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a trying day."

"Good…night?" Harry hazarded as he quickly scampered off towards the dormitory. He found his room and stepped inside quietly. He shared it with Draco, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

"My name is Vincent," the first thing Harry realized, was that nobody was sleeping. The second was that there was a meaty hand thrust forward in front of his face. "And this here is Gregory," he continued, pointing towards the second bulky boy who held a sort-of demented grin on his face.

They both were easily twice his size.

"I'm Harry," he said hesitantly, before clasping the offered hand. "I hope we can all be friends?" he added then softly.

"I like making friends," Gregory said, while Vincent just gave him a raised eyebrow look.

"Sure. It's what my Dad says," Vincent shrugged, "Make friends with everyone in your House! You can't afford to have enemies where you sleep."

"Uh-uh," Gregory nodded firmly. "I'm Gregory," the other boy extended his own hand. Harry shook that one too.

He actually felt happy now. Everyone wanted to be a friend or help him out. Maybe he had really chosen the best place…and it was so different from being with the Dursley. He crawled under his bed sheets, plopped his head down against the soft pillows and fell asleep surrounded by green, silver, and the soothing sound of the waves.

He had to remember not to open the window.

**Author's notes.**

**One thing irked me. It was an itch. **

**You know, the Houses are so great and all but…the wizards inside act like they aren't really meant for them. Then Pottermore comes off with Slytherin actually not being blood-purity related and…the itch becomes bigger.**

**This isn't a Slytherin-Harry centred story. It's not actually the focus.**

**The Focus is: What would happen if every character acted the way their **_**Houses**_** would expect them to?**

**Case in point: Draco wouldn't be a twerp. Goyle and Gregory would have brains. Ron wouldn't be a jealous person. Hermione wouldn't be afraid to kick Ron in the balls sometimes. Neville would have courage. Dumbledore would be a bit whackier. Ravenclaws would actually be the 'stay away from them' house.**

**Oh, and this isn't a 'Slytherin is good, bash the rest' story. This is a 'Let the House-motifs go to the play…what the hell happens afterwards?'**

**The House Traits are as follow:**

**Ravenclaw:** **Intelligence-Wit-Wisdom-Creativity-Originality-Ind ividuality**

**Gryffindor: Bravery-Nerve-Chivalry-Courage-Daring**

**Hufflepuff: Dedication-Hard Work-Fair play-Patience-Kindness-Tolerance-Unafraid of Toil**

**Slytherin: Traditionalism-Resourcefulness-Cunning-Ambition-Le adership qualities-Self-Preservation-Determination-Cleverne ss-Fraternity-Power**

**(Taken from the Wiki. Dunno why Slytherin has so many)**

'**Why didn't you start at the beginning?'**

'**Because nobody cares about a canon-copy of the beginning with a simply more affable Draco Malfoy…and frankly, we all know how things go at the start. It's how they **_**diverge**_** that is important.'**


	2. Prologue, Part Two

Normality

Chapter Two

"Blimey, you're Harry Potter!" red hair, freckles, a bright white smile. "Do you have the scar?"

That was how the first lesson started. It began with the startling realization that indeed, he was _famous_. Not the 'Oh yes, it's him' famous, but the 'Oh my god it's him I want an autograph! I want to have his babies! I want him!' type that only television stars normally received.

In addition, it displayed that there was some sort of underlying bona-fide protective ring going on around him. When the swarm of first year Gryffindors all left their spots to come forward to look at him, to say hello or just generally, to chat, the Slytherin side had taken a step forth to make sure he wouldn't be surrounded from all sides. He had green and silver behind him, while red and gold was in front.

"Right, name's Ron, Ron Weasley! Really, you have to tell us, do you remember anything about offing…" every one of the Gryffindor side grew quiet —the only side making noise, as the Slytherins were simply standing making a silent wall— "He who must not be named?"

"N-No?" Harry stuttered out, before receiving quite the hearty pat on the shoulder from the boy.

"I can't believe it's Harry Potter!" a female voice said next, "Move aside Ron!" the boy ended up pushed out of the way by a curly brown-haired girl, who held a book in her arms. "I'm Hermione Granger," she made a light but quick curtsy, "I read everything about you in Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and you even have an honourable mention in the Order of Merlin candidates! Did you really kill a troll when you were a toddler? Were you really born with a comet announcing your arrival?"

"Eh?" Harry's eyes widened comically, as more questions flocked in from every side.

The Potions' class was in the dungeons, the room had a tall ceiling and shelves lined up with equipment and supplies. "It's about time we take our seats, Harry," Draco whispered hurriedly. "Before Professor Snape comes in and sees this chaos."

"Right," Harry nodded, still confused about the chorus of questions he was hearing from the Gryffindors. "Ehm, please…" everyone looked at him with curious and attentive eyes. "Lesson is about to start, we shouldn't anger the professor …all right?"

Somehow, Harry found himself sitting at the first row with Draco on one side and Ron on the other. Vincent, Gregory and Hermione were behind. He had just finished setting his stuff down, when the professor entered the room with his cloak billowing behind him.

"I have a few simple rules I want you all to understand clearly," professor Snape said in a firm and cold voice. "You will not play, use your wand for pranks or otherwise attempt to disrupt this lesson in the slightest possible way. If you do, I will have you thrown out of this class and let me tell you that without Potions you will not find any work out of here."

He gave a scathing gaze to all of them. "Unless you fancy yourself as a second-handed wizard, you will not fail this classroom. Am I clear?"

There were no replies. "Who knows where a bezoar is found?"

A few hands came up. "Who also knows what requires powdered roots of asphodel and an infusion of Wormwood?"

Fewer hands remained up.

"Who also knows what the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane is?"

Only one hand remained.

"Yes?"

Hermione promptly answered. "The bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat, sir. The draught of the living dead requires asphodel and wormwood, sir. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, sir. It is also known as aconite, sir!"

Professor Snape gave the girl a curt nod. "Maybe my class isn't entirely filled with dunderheads this year. Five points to Gryffindor."

He then carefully moved to the chalkboard. "Who can tell me what the ingredients for the Cure for Boils potion are?"

Some students brought their hands up, Draco and Hermione among those.

"Mister Malfoy?"

"They are dried nettles, snake fangs, horned slugs and porcupine quills, sir."

"Very well, that will be fifteen points to Slytherin."

Calmly, the lesson proceeded. Everyone took notes. There wasn't a sound beyond the scribbling of feathers on the parchments, the occasional dipping of the quill in the inkpot and the quick breathing of the children trying to keep up with the curt information delivered.

The bell rang.

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger, you three remain. The others can go," the voice clipped, Professor Snape watched with a cold and dark glare as the few slow students picked up their paces when his eyes settled on them.

"It is in the interests of the future of potion making that I make myself available to specific students of my classes, who might wish one day to acquire a master's knowledge on the fine art of brewing. Let me tell you that the Hogwarts' curriculum is viciously underestimated. At sixteen, a competent and well-prepared student can easily acquire his Newts if he so wishes," his eyes settled on Hermione.

"I do not believe in favouritisms," he continued, "But I believe in merit above all. Should any of you wish for an increase in difficulty of the course, you just need to tell me and I will provide with additional homework and personal tutoring hours to grant you a finer understanding of what potions is about."

Hermione sucked those words up. It was…interesting. Harry had to admit, the way it went was very much the epitome of surprising.

His eyebrows didn't go down even as the professor dismissed them, or as Hermione decided that making a big head out of him and Draco about 'such an opportunity' was tantamount important.

"This school is awesome," Hermione said excitedly. "I'm certainly going to be participating. Will you?"

"Sure," Draco replied. "Harry?"

"Of course," he nodded. There was a nagging feeling of something wrong, but he left it there. The next lesson was charms, and as he sat down —once more, in the first row— he was this time between Vincent and Gregory.

The professor was a…a dwarf? He was small anyway, and squeaked excitedly as he realized who was in the classroom.

"Very interesting!" the professor exclaimed, jumping down from his stool and swishing his wand. Feathers appeared in front of the students, as the man presented himself. "I am Filius Flitwick, professor of Charms and head of the Ravenclaw house. Some of you may know me from my time as a duelling champion, but rest assured I will not use any of my spells on you —as long as you pay attention to class!"

Filius twitched his wand, and a set of instructions appeared on the chalkboard. "Wingardium Leviosa! The most basic spell of spells! A levitation charm that is useful in life, battle, when something's falling on your head and most of the time a fun party spell when you're drunk enough."

The man went through the spell gestures quickly, levitating the stool he had left and then jumping on it. "Now," he said from his higher position. "Levitation does not mean 'flying'. Levitation means 'levitate' or 'stay above the ground'. You use the tip of your wand to direct the levitated object. Meaning that no, you cannot use it to fly yourself —don't even think about using it on your classmates anyway— but you can use it on an object and levitate that around."

He moved his wand's tip to the right, and the stool followed. "Just remember to be careful. As long as the spell is active, the location of the tip of the wand matters a lot! Make a sudden jerk and bam!" making an example, the result was the stool soaring with incredible speed and smashing itself against the wall —after the minute man jumped off of it, of course.

Two flourishes and the stool was intact once more and floating back at its original place.

"You can do a lot of things with charms, students!" he said cheerfully. "So, repeat after me —Wingardium Leviosa!"

Nothing happened the first time they tried.

"No, no! Win-Gar-Dium! Leviosa! The 'sa'!"

They tried again. "Come on students! Harder!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione exclaimed, before emitting a small shriek of surprise as her feather twitched.

Vincent frowned, before giving a nod towards Gregory.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry whispered to the feather, pointing the tip of the wand at it. It didn't twitch at all.

"Ah, I remember your father was a prodigy at charms," the professor said. "He was a prankster of the worst kind, but quite the prodigy whenever he said his mind on learning something," the dwarf smiled towards him. "Maybe you took after your mother —she was very good with potions, last I recall."

"Really?" Harry asked, with his voice soft. "I…I didn't know."

"Well, that's peculiar," Filius frowned. "If you want we can talk more about them later, for now try to concentrate on getting the _feeling_ right!" scampering back to the centre of the class, the professor exclaimed.

"Remember! It's not only a matter of words and movement! You must will the feather to move! Many muggleborn students probably have never seen a magic spell in action before today, which is the prime reason for my demonstration earlier. Magic exists and it works! As long as you believe in this, you will be fine! Will the feather to float!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Draco hissed, but the feather barely twitched to begin with —mostly because of his breath.

Harry swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. His father had been very good at this. He clenched his wand, carefully going through the motions. He could do this.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered, his tip touching the feather.

And the feather…floated. Softly, it followed Harry wand's tip as it moved across the air. Filius' eyes trailed over it with a smile on his lips. The feather then landed back down on Harry's desk, as the boy exhaled in relief.

"Very well done, my boy!" Filius clapped his hands excitedly, "That's ten points for Slytherin then! You have your father's talent, I'm sure."

Sheepishly, Harry scratched the back of his neck. He wasn't used to getting all this praise or attention.

"We're going to win the cup of the house again," Draco said as they left the classroom after the lesson was over. A few other students —Hermione and another Slytherin— had managed the feat in little time, while others had taken a bit more —like Gregory and Ron.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," Ron snapped back. "Well, see you later Harry!"

The Gryffindor ran away, Hermione trying thoughtfully to do the same only for Vincent and Gregory to stop her.

"You're good with magic stuff," Vincent said. Gregory nodded.

"Ah…yes?"

"We can…study together?"

Hermione's eyes widened for a moment, before she nodded faster than Harry could imagine.

Draco gave him a head gesture, and the two bypassed the other three. As they walked through the hallways, Draco hummed thoughtfully. "A Slytherin makes connections with people," he said softly. "It's the first rule. Hogwarts is a playground for _contacts_ and a place where you can achieve _anything_, if you put your heart into it."

Harry frowned. "So…everyone wants to be my friend because of my name?"

"Would you be a friend of a homeless man?" Draco replied, "Would you befriend a thug, a robber? Friend 'status' has requirements, no matter how you try to put it. Your name and your deed is what open up doors. It's what you do with the open door however that makes it stay open or close. Friendships need to be cultivated with time and care."

"Can't friends just be friends?" Harry asked.

Draco snorted. "Why waste time? You're Slytherin Harry. You will achieve greatness. Everyone who is in Slytherin will achieve greatness. The Gryffindors might become explorers, adventurers…the Ravenclaw might discover new secrets of magic and the Hufflepuffs will be renowned for being hard workers and experimenters…but you're Slytherin. Your place…just like mine," he gave him a smile, "Is at the top."

An image of a cupboard flashed him by. Of the scraps, of the work, of the gardening…in the magical world, he didn't have to do that. Why would he have to in the muggle world? He clenched his fists. He'd speak with his head of the house about it.

He didn't want a lot of toys like Dudley, and he didn't want to be pampered…but he knew it was wrong to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs…and he would never exchange a bed at Hogwarts for it, no matter what.

He would _shine_.

**Author's notes**

**Next chapter, time-skip to fourth year and Triwizard tournament.**

… '**Wait, but the Stone!? The Basilisk!? Azkaban!?'**

…

_**Heh**_**. You thought I'd follow the **_**rules**_** with this story? Consider this the prologue.**


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